


Midnight Madness

by ASimpleArchivist



Series: MTMTE Love [2]
Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers Generation One, transformers more than meets the eye
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Blood and Gore, Established Relationship, F/M, Graphic Descriptions of Body Mutilation/Torture, Hurt/Comfort, Just warning you guys, Mentions of Delphi and Luna 1, Pharma's batshit crazy man, Poor bb, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Ratchet's traumatized, Torture, and Ratchet's suffering from the repercussions, he's also terrified of losing you, might add tags later I'm tired, post luna 1, very bloody, you help Ratchet cope with what he's gone through
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-24
Updated: 2017-12-24
Packaged: 2019-02-19 10:42:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,631
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13122066
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ASimpleArchivist/pseuds/ASimpleArchivist
Summary: The events of Luna 1 left their mark upon Ratchet's psyche, taking nightmarish form in the concept of losing you.(Post Luna 1, like a couple of days after.)





	Midnight Madness

**Author's Note:**

> Just got finished binge-reading MTMTE from Issue 8 to 21 recently. Lots of angst, lots of drama, lots of people I want to punch in the face. So...yeah. Enjoy this angst-riddled jam sandwiched between hurt and comfort. ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯ (I have lots of Ratchet feels, okay? Don’t judge.)  
> Needless to say, this takes place directly after the events of Issue 21 (Luna 1) - like, aftermath and stuff. Ratchet didn’t walk away from that without something new to plague his mind. I also tried to sprinkle in little bits of Ratchet’s actual encounter with Pharma in Issues 18-21 (also Delphi) for the surreality of deja-vu, but still make it seem like a fresh encounter.  
> Enjoy!

“Ratchet…”

No.

“Raaaatchet…?”

No, it couldn’t be.

“It’s me, Pharma. Come on - I want to play a _guessing game_.”

_No!_

Ratchet’s optics snapped open and he bared his teeth at the apparition of the mech looming over him, all too aware of the fact that (to his simultaneous relief and fury) that his entire frame - intact and attached, _thank Primus_ \- was strapped down to a medical slab. “Get _away_ from me, you _glitch-riddled pitspawn!_ ”

“Oh?” Pharma lifted a matte cobalt servo to rest it against his chassis in the most painfully overdramatized imitation of hurt Ratchet had ever seen. “I’m hurt, Ratchet. Really, you wound me.” He tilted his head, giving even Rodimus a run for his money on the pout he conjured. “Don’t you want to play my game?”

“The _last_ time you played this game my _body_ wound up in a _box_ ,” Ratchet growled, “and my _head_ was mounted like a _tiki_ _torch_.”

The other mech laughed maniacally, far too loudly and far, _far_ too boisterously. Ratchet gritted his dentae. “Oh, don’t worry about _that_.” Pharma leaned down close to Ratchet’s helm, cupping a servo around his mouth and Ratchet’s audial so he could whisper conspiratorially without any fear of being overheard (which, in itself, was ridiculous). “I’ve got a much _better_ surprise in store for you this time.”

Pharma withdrew, pressing a button on an unseen panel mounted below the main lip of the berth. The slab began to raise and tilt forward, rendering Ratchet upright but still immobile. He tested the bonds when Pharma turned his back and wandered over to the instrument table, though to his agitation they weren’t the standard-strength restraints equipped on operation slabs - instead, they were the heavy-duty models. Even _Fortress_ _Maximus_ or _Ultra_ _Magnus_ would take pause in order to break free of them. Ratchet...well, he didn’t stand a chance.

“You know, I’ve thought about what it would’ve been like if I’d kept you to myself a little bit longer,” Pharma began wistfully, picking up a particularly large and imposing scalpel - an _actual_ _bladed_ scalpel, which was enough to set Ratchet on edge, if he hadn’t been already (which he _was_ \- he _had_ been since he’d first heard the wretched flyer’s voice). “Just you and me, no one to interfere...no one to hear you scream.”

“And what, exactly, are you referring to?” Ratchet ground out, glancing around his immediate surroundings to see if any potential tool for his escape or weapon of defense was within his (very limited) range. No such luck. Pharma had been careful to move any and all handheld devices or instruments _away_ from the surgical slab. “Delphi, you didn’t stand a chance. Luna 1 wasn’t a win, either.”

“ _I_ won!” Pharma snapped, whirling around and pinning Ratchet where he lay with bared teeth and wild optics. “You couldn’t - _didn’t_ \- save Ambulon! And _I_ could have!”

“But you _didn’t_ ,” Ratchet growled. “You got up and _left_. Ambulon was your friend!”

“Ambulon was a _fool!_ ” Pharma’s wings were drawn up high on their struts, arching behind his shoulders on full display. It would have made him look more imposing to an outsider. “So was Tyrest! Neither of them - _not even you_ \- are unmarred by idiocy!”

“Tell me, then,” Ratchet snarled, “how I made more of an idiot than you!”

Pharma stilled, and for a moment Ratchet wondered if he’d actually gotten through to the deranged mech with how his expression fell entirely, but not a second longer passed until an outright sinister, nightmarish smile twisted Pharma’s faceplate into unnatural, eerie proportions. “I’ll tell you, Ratchet,” he said lightly, in an almost pleasant tone, “how you’re more of an idiot than I. I’ve got the primary example, right here.”

Ratchet watched, seething and wanting nothing more than to rip the wings from the madmech’s spinal strut with his own bare servos, as Pharma ambled fluidly behind a partition Ratchet couldn’t see around. He heard the hiss of a hydraulic hatch opening, the sleepy murmur of a voice unintelligible. He craned his neck cabling, trying to angle his helm so he would at least get to see what blasted thing Pharma had been blithering on about-

“Don’t you _dare_ touch me!”

Oh. Oh, _no_.

“Oh, stop that. There’s really no use in struggling. Haven’t you figured that out yet?”

Primus, _please_ …

“Let me go! I’ll gut you with your _own_ _damned_ _scalpel_ , Pharma-!”

The named mech rounded the corner, wickedly smug grin broadening as his optics alighted upon Ratchet once again. But Ratchet didn’t see it. Ratchet only saw red.

“Aww, poor, poor, _dearest_ Ratchet. Can’t handle the sight of organic blood, hmm?”

There was red everywhere.

“Don’t worry, it washes off fairly easily. It has a rather pleasing color, though, doesn’t it? Very Autobot. Autobot red.” A laugh rolled off the other mech’s glossa. “Perhaps that’s why Optimus Prime was so taken with humanity - they bleed the very same color his almighty, righteous cause brands themselves with.”

_So much red._

“It’s much more vivid when it’s fresh, though. All this-” He opened his servo, forcing Ratchet to take in the sight of the battered, beaten, bruised and bloodied human body lying helpless in his palm. “-is old, and it’s starting to flake off. I’d like show you, really, but...this one’s just about dry, I think.” He grinned. “How unfortunate.”

Rounded, glassy, _terrified_ , organic eyes caught Ratchet’s horrified stare. “Ratchet…!”

_I’ll kill him. I’ll fragging kill him._

Pharma exchanged the prone human female from one servo to the other, thoughtfully rubbing a thumb against the torn, raw flesh of her abdomen. “Humans in particular, though...very interesting. It’s so remarkable that they’re so similar to us, isn’t it? If one overlooks the simple fact of differentiating elements, it’s astounding the comparisons one can make upon their anatomy as opposed to ours...though I wouldn’t have taken you as one to be _attracted_ to them - a shocking revelation, indeed. I never would have expected it.”

“Pharma,” Ratchet said, voice low. “Let her go.”

“Don’t interrupt me, Ratchet,” the other mech chided, waving a servo at him as though scolding a sparkling, “you do know how that irritates me.”

“Ratchet-!” The human, so tiny and fragile in Pharma’s servo, wriggled and writhed as best she could, trying to pry herself free from his grasp. In return he squeezed slowly, causing her to lose her breath with the tightness of his grip.

“Humans,” he scoffed. “So predictable, so flighty. One moment they’re attempting to intimidate by hollow threats, the next they’re begging for mercy or trying to escape. How very reproachful.” Pharma lifted his optics back up to Ratchet’s, smirk widening evermore as he took in Ratchet’s expression. “It’s a good thing we’re not like that, hmm?”

“Pharma,” Ratchet ground out, leaning forward as best he was able. All he managed was pushing his shoulders out. “Please. Don’t bring her into this, she isn’t involved. This is just between you and me.”

“Who said it was?” Pharma inquired. “Why not bring others into this? After all, _you_ were the one who involved First Aid and Ambulon. _You_ were the one who made that deal. _You_ were the one who let Ambulon die.”

“ _You_ _killed him!_ ” Ratchet snarled, lips curling and dentae bared ferociously.

“I gave you a challenge, and you _butchered_ him!” Pharma straightened, raising his chin and looking down his nose at the restrained mech. A smile twisted the corners of his mouth. “But...maybe the second time will be the charm.”

Ratchet froze. His energon chilled, his very spark seemed to stutter. His mouth moved, thoughts and words and pleas running through his processor faster than he could articulate them. “Pharma - Pharma, _please_ , I-”

But the other mech was already moving over to a small dissection table - one similar to the one Perceptor used to examine samples from the many planets they’d explored - and pressed his prey down onto its cold surface. The human was visibly trembling, eyes glistening with tears responding to the mortal terror surely coursing through her veins. She tried to scrabble away, but she was as helpless as a mouse caught in a cat’s claws. Pharma pinned her limbs in place with the tips of his digits while nimbly placing miniaturized stasis cuffs over her wrists and ankles, rendering her only able to struggle against the painful electrical sensation.

Pharma drew back with a satisfied smile, admiring his handiwork. “There, that’s better. Now you can’t flail about and ruin my design.”

Now fully exposed, her limbs splayed out like an insect on a cork board, Ratchet could plainly see the incisions and bruises littering the human’s delicate flesh. Her eyes were glazed with pain, stitches made of thinly-spun metal comparatively too big for her minute size were crusted with blood and mottled with discoloration. Ratchet’s primary tank churned when he realized that the pattern formed the caricature of the Cybertronian medicinal symbol.

“I thought it fitting,” Pharma said after a moment, obviously having taken glee in watching the emotions play over Ratchet’s face, “since she _does_ belong to the chief medic of the Autobot fleet.”

Lacking for anything else to say, Ratchet croaked, “She doesn’t belong to me.”

“Oh?” Pharma raised an optical ridge, only serving to enunciate the smirk curving the corner of his mouth. “But she does, Ratchet. She cares for you deeply. I’d even go so far as to say that she _loves_ you.” He tossed his helm back and laughed, optics sparkling with malicious mirth. “You should have _heard_ the threats she gave me when I told her what I planned to do to you. One would think she considers herself thrice bigger than she is - or even more! But as soon as I shared all the _juicy details_ of what I have planned for this lovely evening, it seemed that all the fight drained right out of her.” He tutted softly, tucking the end of his index digit under her chin. “I rather enjoyed her entertainment, too. How sad that it should end so soon.”

“Pharma, I don’t care what I’ve done to you, or what you think I’ve done,” Ratchet said plaintively, helm sinking as he tried to fight away the despair tugging his spark into the pit of his chassis, “but...if you promise to let her go, let her leave here with her life, then...you can do whatever you want to me. I won’t complain. I won’t fight. I’ll do anything, just...please. Don’t hurt her any more.”

Pharma regarded him neutrally, face unreadable as he seemed to consider the elder medic’s words. Finally, he grinned - a feral, baleful grin that made Ratchet’s plating flare and stand on its seams - and began to cackle maniacally. It took an uncomfortably long moment for the unsettlingly and deceivingly amicable sound to wane. “It’s funny, Ratchet - honestly, it’s hilarious!” He swiped a tear of solvent away from his optic, smile wide and almost splitting his faceplate in two. “It’s funny how you think that anything you say might change my mind.”

Ratchet clenched his borrowed servos, every cable in his frame tensing and every subroutine in his processor screaming at him to get free, grab Pharma around the throat and throttle him against the first flat surface.

“Also…” Pharma tilted his helm, sneering, “...you’re a _liar_. You care. All you _do_ is care. You care about everything and everyone.” He turned towards the counter again, picking up a scalpel almost as big as the human herself and scrutinizing it with a critical eye and twisted lip. “It’s one of your more memorable weaknesses.”

Ratchet froze when, with one fluid movement, Pharma whirled to the dissection table and drew the thin blade down the center of the human’s torso. She choked on her breath, letting out a prolonged, pained cry as she helplessly watched her own blood began to seep up from the wound. Ratchet’s dentae cracked from the force of clenching his jaw.

“You care, and you love - _so_ very deeply - and you deny every waking moment that you do...” he continued, making another incision across the vertical one, reopening the stitches and causing her to tremble and keen with pain. “...because you’re afraid of being hurt as a result of it. And this, my dearest Ratchet - caring for those you can’t save, can’t have, can’t keep forever,” he finished, smiling wickedly, “will be your end.”

 _Ratchet_...

The human was dying. Ratchet knew this, was painfully aware of it - he could see it plainly before his very optics. Blood was dribbling down her sides, staining her flesh and pooling on the metal slab beneath her. Her breaths were shallow and weak, pain evident in her strained wheezes and contorted expression. Her eyes were glassy, hollow, and remaining steadfast on Ratchet. She smiled softly when she caught his optics, more comfort in its simplicity than any other gesture she could’ve made, but Ratchet didn’t miss the fear in her eyes, the guilt and the longing and the regret that she was trying to hide.

 _Ratchet_.

‘I love you,’ she mouthed, eyes glittering with tears. She fell still.

Ratchet snarled, pain and fury almost tangible. “ _Pharma-!_ ”

“Ratchet!”

The white and red medic’s optics snapped online, systems kicking on so suddenly it caused him to jerk against the recharge slab from the kickback. He noticed his faceplate was wet, his entire frame shaking minutely as he struggled to regain his bearings. Pharma...wasn’t there. He wasn’t strapped down to a slab. Pharma wasn’t there. He wasn’t in a medical bay. Pharma wasn’t there. He was in his habsuite. Pharma wasn’t there. He was safe. _Pharma wasn’t there._

You - _where were y-_

“Ratchet, it’s okay - it was just a dream. You’re okay.”

You were there. Pharma wasn’t.

Ratchet couldn’t restrict the sob that ripped through him, his shaking, stolen servos cradling you protectively. He pressed his face into your soft, warm, breathing, _living_ body, trying to steady his disturbed spark. Your hand, tiny and warm and smooth, stroked his cheek soothingly, wiping away the optical fluid gently as you pressed lingering kisses to the bridge of his nose. You were murmuring the whole time, a fact he only realized once his spark stopped thrumming in his audials.

“...you’re okay, you’re here, you’re safe. He can’t get to you now. You’re all right, I promise. I’ve got you.”

Ratchet let out a shaky ex-vent, forcing his optics back online because everytime they shut off he only saw that fragging psychotic smile. Your concern was almost palpable, your eyes alight with it as you drew back to give him a good once over. Your mother-henning behaviour had only become more pronounced from being around him for so long, it would seem.

“I’m sorry I woke you,” he finally managed, looking away briefly.

“I wasn’t sleeping well anyway,” you lied smoothly. (He’d always been able to tell when you lied.) You stroked his chevron, settling your weight onto the recharge slab next to his helm. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“Not particularly,” he mumbled, though he was well aware that it would be better for him to let it out than anything else. He focused on the air traveling through his vents for a long moment, taking a brief evaluation of his basic systems - energon lines, spark rate, tank condition, et cetera. It was almost instinct, even on himself - centuries of being a medic did that to a mech, he supposed. After he was sure he wouldn’t have another mental breakdown, he returned his attention back to you and distracted himself with tracing the dip of your spine with the tips of his digits. “...I dreamed about Pharma again.”

“Delphi or Luna 1?” you asked.

“Neither.” Ratchet ex-vented softly, shaking his head. “This old computer block in my head can’t seem to grasp that the fragger’s dead, and it’s getting more creative.”

“It’s understandable that you’re having nightmares about him,” you told him. “Honestly, if you _weren’t_ in the least bit distressed about the fact that he infected you with a virus that literally melted your insides, or removed your helm and spark from your own damn body, I would be concerned. Trauma sucks, but it’s normal.”

He snorted, tilting his helm towards you until he could nuzzle your stomach. “I just wish he’d get out of my fragging head. Bastard doesn’t deserve to be thought about.”

“Just give it time, Ratchet,” you said soothingly. “Give yourself time to recover. No one could jump right back after going through something like that. I honestly think you’re doing better than most would in your situation.” You gave him a fond grin. “I think you owe that to that hard helm of yours.”

Ratchet frowned, the grotesque sight of your abused body lingering hauntingly behind his optics. He mindlessly tucked a thumb beneath the hem of your shirt, rubbing your stomach in gentle circles and inwardly relaxing at the confirmation that your skin was still a healthy hue and smooth to the touch, unmarred by bruises or lacerations or torn, bloodied stitches.

He must’ve let something slip in his expression, because you didn’t leave the unusual action unquestioned. “You all right?”

Ratchet hesitated, lifting his optics to take in your worry. He ex-vented again, heavily and wearily. “It wasn’t just Pharma, this time. You were there, too.”

“Was I punching him in the face? Because if he were still alive I wouldn’t rest until I personally shattered one of his optics with my bare fist. Or both. Both is good, too.”

“No. You were dying.”

The fire in your eyes died instantly. He watched it, and instantly regretted it.

Ratchet opened his mouth to say something (though, in retrospect, he wondered what he would’ve even said - an apology, perhaps), but you were quick to silence him with a chaste kiss to the corner of his optic.

“It’s all right,” you murmured, placing a palm on his cheek.

Ratchet’s optical ridges furrowed deeply. “But it’s not. Can you imagine what would happen if he’d ever found out about you? He would’ve killed you.”

Your expression morphed into concern as he sat up, scrubbing at his faceplate. “Ratchet, honestly, you shouldn’t worry about what he would or wouldn’t have done. He’s-”

“Delusional!” Ratchet snapped, digging the digits of the servo not planted on the recharge slab into his optics and gritting his dentae to distract himself from the shudder trying to take his lower lip. “Psychotic! _Crazy!_ He’s-”

“Gone.” Your hand pressed against his servo gently, a touch gentle but grounding enough to make him still. “He’s gone, Ratchet.”

“He would cut you apart,” he whispered, voice quivering. It took him a long moment to realize that his entire frame was, too.

“He can’t,” you reminded him, tugging lightly at the plating on his forearm. He eased back down slowly, turning his face towards you as you nuzzled into his cheek. “He can’t hurt me, Ratchet. There’s no way he could come back from having his _head_ blown off. And even if he _did_ somehow manage to miraculously come back…”

“Again,” he muttered.

You nudged his nose scoldingly. “Even if he _did_ somehow manage to miraculously come back _again_ , you wouldn’t let him. I _know_ you wouldn’t. You’d sooner kill him than let him get within a mile’s radius of me.”

He grimaced, trying to supress the echoes of helplessness from being bound and rendered completely immobile. “I don’t know if I’d be able to protect you,” he murmured.

“Well, it’s a good thing we don’t have to worry about that anymore, huh? Besides, I think you've got a little more fight left in you than you might think,” you said gently, smiling softly and settling against the side of his helm. A moment of silence passed, then you pressed another lingering kiss to his cheek guard. “Please don’t scare yourself like that, Ratchet. I know you can’t control your dreams, but you _can_ think happy thoughts and get your mind off of it.”

“‘Happy thoughts’?” he repeated, raising an optical ridge.

You shrugged. “Yeah. Like how pretty the stars are outside. Or about a book you’ve read that you enjoyed. Maybe memories about fun times you’ve had with friends, or jokes that make you laugh. Just...happy things.”

Ratchet remained silent for a long moment, tilting his helm so his audial rested against your chest. He listened to your breathing and heartbeat, rhythmic and steady and _alive_ in a way so unlike his own kind’s physiology.

“You know I would do anything for you, right?” he said quietly, voice raw.

You paused for a long time, seeming to absorb his words and tone. You reached over and stroked his cheek affectionately.

“I know,” you murmured into his audial.

“Honest.” He tilted his helm to the side, catching your gaze. “I don’t care what happens to me, so long as you’re happy and safe.”

You gave him a wry, knowing smile. “Ah, but that’s where you’re wrong. I wouldn't be happy without you and your stubborn aft.”

 _“_ ** _Liar_** _. You care. All you_ **_do_ ** _is care. You care about everything and everyone.”_ The image of a demonic smile and too wide, too bright optics surfaced in the back of his processor, rippling as though underwater or possessed. _“It’s one of your more memorable weaknesses.”_

 _Frag off_ , he thought firmly, _it’s not a weakness. It’s the greatest strength there is._

Ratchet ex-vented, long and quiet, then tilted his helm to press a kiss to your shoulder. “I love you.”

“I know.” You smiled softly, reciprocating the kiss between his optics. “I love you, too. Sweet dreams, Ratchet.”

“Here’s to hoping,” he mumbled, offlining his optics and feeling suddenly sleepy. He didn’t realize he was smiling until his cheeks began to ache.


End file.
